Seraphina #2
Gerald and Frank had stopped arguing sometime during Joey's investigation.
That was unusual. Gerald normally found at least six things to complain about before the hour was over, while Frank enjoyed provoking him simply because he could.
Now they sat quietly where I'd left them, almost as though they understood that certain moments deserved silence.
I rested my fingertips against the worn cover of the folder, tracing invisible circles across the cardboard while my thoughts drifted somewhere darker.
You know...people always assume the difficult part is learning how to kill.
I smiled faintly.
It isn't…
That's a problem for impulsive people. Angry people.
Frightened people. Any fool can squeeze a trigger.
Any desperate soul can swing a knife. Violence has never required intelligence.
It only requires momentum. I turned my mug slowly between both hands, watching the dark liquid catch the amber glow from the lamp above the table.
The difficult part is restraint.
Outside, the wind sighed through the trees.
The difficult part is waiting.
I leaned back in the chair, my gaze drifting toward the black window where my own reflection floated like another woman sitting opposite me.
Finding the right victim isn't about hatred.
I almost laughed.
Oh, hatred is easy. Everyone hates someone. The woman who parks too close at the supermarket. The man who speaks too loudly in restaurants. The neighbour who trimmed his hedges before eight in the morning.
I shook my head slowly.
No... My victims would never be chosen because they irritated me.
I rested one elbow on the table, cradling my chin against my knuckles.
That would be sloppy, emotional, predictable and I despise predictable.
The smile that found my lips wasn't warm.
It takes patience to discover a real monster.
My fingers drifted absently across the folder again.
You watch, you listen, you collect and you let people believe nobody is paying attention while they quietly reveal themselves piece by piece.
I looked toward the ceiling as though I could still see Hollow City hidden somewhere beyond the clouds.
The fascinating ones aren't cruel in public. They’re generous, sponsor children's hospitals, donate paintings, rescue abandoned dogs, smile at cameras, remember anniversaries, shake hands with politicians and they build entire reputations out of kindness because kindness makes the perfect camouflage.
I sighed contentedly.
And eventually...They become comfortable. Comfortable people stop acting. That's when they become interesting.
The cottage was so quiet I could hear the old clock in the hallway counting each passing second.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
It's remarkable, really. The human body always betrays itself, a jaw tightens, eyes linger one heartbeat too long, a pulse jumps beneath the throat. Someone forgets which lie they told three Tuesdays ago. Truly they think they're hiding but they never are…
I lowered my gaze until it landed on the fresh red circle surrounding Richard Vance's name.
The trick isn't exposing monsters; the trick is recognizing them before anyone else does.
Another sip, still cold but so good. I let the mug settle onto the wooden table with careful precision, aligning the handle exactly parallel with the grain. The small ritual made something inside my chest loosen.
Then, slowly. Very slowly. I lifted my eyes. Not to the window. Not to Gerald. Not to Frank.
To you.
There was something strangely comforting about imagining you sitting across from me tonight, quietly turning pages without interrupting, letting the story unfold exactly as it wished.
You've been very patient. I've noticed. You haven't skipped ahead. You haven't tried to solve everything before it was ready. You've simply watched.
A thoughtful smile curved across my face.
I like people who watch, they usually see things everyone else misses.
My head tilted ever so slightly.
Although...I suppose that depends on what kind of person you are when nobody else is looking. I wondered whether your smile looked different when you were alone, whether your voice softened, whether you locked your doors and whether you glanced over your shoulder after reading things like this.
Funny, the questions that curiosity asks.
My fingertips brushed lightly over the folder one last time before I gathered everything into a neat stack.
The wonderful thing about stories is that everyone believes they're reading about somebody else.
I stood, carrying my empty mug toward the sink, pausing just long enough to glance back over my shoulder. The smile I wore wasn't cruel. If anything,… It was almost gentle.
I do hope that's true because if it isn't… If, somewhere between these pages, you happened to recognize yourself...Then perhaps this chapter wasn't written for entertainment after all.
Perhaps...
I only needed to know one thing.
Whether you were reading this story... or whether this story had been reading you.
Well... then that leaves me with one final question before you turn the page.
Are you simply reading about monsters…or have you simply been waiting for one to recognise you?